Some Family Matters
by CMCity
Summary: Hotch broke his word to Garcia in "Reflection of Desire". Months later, she still remembers... The case of the Karaoke night killer – follows canons of CM  which I do not own!
1. Chapter 1

This story is set during Season 6, seven months after episode 6.08 "Reflection of Desire" to which it refers. It assumes that JJ's return will happen after this story and that the Lauren/Prentiss storyline never happened, or not yet, anyway. In other words, this story should have happened in February, but it needed to be set in June to really work, and I did not want to get rid of Prentiss, nor Seaver... Thank you for allowing this discrepancy! (BTW I love JJ, as you can see in my previous story, "The Pardon". If you have not checked it, please do it now, as it will soon become obsolete / irrelevant once Season 7 starts...).

This story will be quickly updated, daily. It is not beta'd, all mistakes are mine - please give feedback and corrections.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own copyrights to Criminal Minds or its characters. They are borrowed only for pleasure, without any gain, financial or other.

QUOTE:

"Family life is too intimate to be preserved by the spirit of justice. It can be sustained by a spirit of love which goes beyond justice."

- **Reinhold Niebuhr**

[TEASER:]

On a warm June evening, near Princeton University, as strollers throughout the city enjoyed the city's night life, one couple at a bus stop was, unknowingly, receiving much focused attention from a solitary man sitting in his pick-up truck. Parked under shady trees a fair distance away, but equipped with binoculars, he was observing the petite black-haired woman smile to her companion as she accepted a piece of paper offered by the man. The city bus approached and made its stop; the girl stepped on the bus and the man waved goodbye. The bus headed first in the direction of the truck then turned north on the nearby cross-street, obstructing the view down the street for a moment. The observer turned on his engine, but waited, still hiding in the darkness as he watched the now lone man slowly walking away, turning a corner, and heading south on the next cross-street. The driver hesitated as a patrol car went by. Then, turning on his headlights, he drove up to that same corner and stopped at the intersection, unsure if he should turn the corner and follow; but seeing the man walk to the local bar filled with music and loud voices, he dismissed the bar's parking lot that was constantly checked by the police and headed north instead. He needed a parking spot not too close, not too far, discreet enough to not attract attention, but with a view of the bar's entrance...

OOOOOOOOOO

It was dark inside the apartment and much too late for a boy his age to be up, but Jack peeked down the hallway and listened to the moans coming from his father's room. He had heard these sounds before, but now knew what to do. Calmly, resolutely, he walked to the bedroom, opened the door, and approached the bed; he needed to wake up his dad who was having a bad dream, so he gently shook Hotch's shoulder.

"No... Stop!" mumbled Hotch, still asleep.

"Daddy! Dad! Wake up!" Jack tried to rouse his father more forcefully. "You're dreaming!"

At the sound of Jack's voice, Hotch was instantly awake. Concerned about the boy, he reached for him.

"What are you doing up, buddy? You're okay?"

"You were having a bad dream, daddy." Then Jack added evenly: "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hotch smiled: Jack was offering his help, repeating the same words his father would say to him when he was having a nightmare.

"Thanks, I'm okay. I'm sorry I woke you up." Remembering his dream, he worried about how much he had said out loud...

"Would you like a glass of water?" inquired Jack, still following the bad-dream protocol. Hotch realized he had better let the boy help, or next would come the offers of a back rub and a lullaby...

"I'd like that very much, thank you."

Jack ran out with a thrilled look on his face. While Hotch slowly got up, he heard the sound of Jack's step stool being dragged on the bathroom floor, then tap water running and filling up a glass. The light in the bathroom made Hotch squint a bit, but he smiled as Jack handed him the glass of water.

"You want me to tuck you in?" suggested Hotch after taking a sip. "Come on, buddy, we've got to get up early tomorrow..." and he gently guided Jack off the stool and back to his room.

OOOOOOOOOO

It was an hour before closing time at the bar and the Princeton Police squad cars waiting nearby were ready to nab anyone attempting to drive while intoxicated. Three young men came stumbling out of the bar, and the policemen watched attentively. In his dark truck up the street, the man with binoculars initially dismissed the group, but suddenly realized that one of the men was heading in a different direction than the others. Through his binoculars, he recognized the same man who had waited with the girl at the bus stop two hours earlier. _It's about time_, thought the watcher.

The slightly tipsy man waved to a taxi cab and got in. The taxi passed the other two men who were now arguing loudly, then headed west, while the stalker also used his first cross-street to head west, hoping to catch up with the taxi in a less conspicuous location. The police officers' attention was still distracted by the argument and did not notice the black pick-up truck up the street.

Fifteen minutes later, the taxi dropped off his ride in front of a family house in a peaceful neighbourhood. After the taxi drove away, the dark truck quickly pulled up, stopping with a short screech of the tires. The noise intrigued the wobbly man, and he turned around to look behind him, his head reeling from too much alcohol and fatigue. He peered in the dark to see who was inside the truck.

Through the open passenger window of his truck, the driver was pointing a long riffle at the man's head. The gun fired.

OOOOOOOOOO

Tuesday morning, at the Quantico FBI headquarters, Penelope Garcia was getting ready to present a new case to the BAU team in their conference room. She had been keeping her gaze down from the moment she came in instead of making eye contact with her colleagues as would normally be the case for her. The team had just returned the day before from a case in Florida, but had been told to come in early for an urgent case. They were all feeling a bit weary, but mugs of coffee would have to remedy the situation for the next few days.

Agents Prentiss and Hotchner were just settling down, while Morgan, Rossi, and Seaver were already checking their electronic pads. Dr. Reid hurriedly joined the group, and Garcia, seeing the team finally complete, greeted Reid and the others in a subdued manner and started her presentation.

"Princeton has been the scene of four peculiar murders in the past eight months: four men killed by the same long rifle, all as they were getting home, all on a late Wednesday night." She turned to start the usual slides of victims and crime scene pictures, then continued:

"Three months ago, the slaying of Ren Nozawa, age 32, was quickly linked to the previous death of another man of Japanese descent, Yoshio Mizuki, 35, who was killed in late December. The first victim of the series, Sam Crocker, 39, was shot last November, but his death, at first, had been believed to be related to gang warfare because his brother is involved with local drug dealers. Thanks to ballistics, the investigation linked the three murders and the drug connection did not pan out. Recently, other connections between the three victims were discovered, but this did not prevent a fourth killing last week, that of 43 year old John Sears."

"A white man, two Japanese Americans, then another white male…" commented Prentiss.

The slide show was presenting images of four attractive men with sharp, expressive faces, and dark eyes and hair that contrasted dramatically with the corresponding crime scene pictures showing their bloody heads and faces shattered by a single gunshot.

"The wounds are all inflicted at the heads or faces," added Reid. "A desire to destroy their identity, or perhaps their good looks, this could indicate rage or anger, even possibly a personal connection to the victims..."

Garcia pointed to each face on the screen as she continued:

"Three of the victims were from Princeton University: Crocker and Mizuki were both completing their Ph.D. and Nozawa was a teacher's assistant; John Sears was a manager at an electronic equipment store. The police have not established any connection between the victims, except for their general appearance and one big one: ALL were patrons of the Sherwood Club the night they were killed, a bar well attended by university students. Wednesday night is 'Karaoke night'..." she finished, with a whimsical expression.

Derek added his observation: "These men are older than your typical twenty something university student. If they were picked out of a younger crowd at the bar, our unsub might also be older than the average student."

"The dates of the killings are also significant," observed Rossi, checking the information on his tablet. "Thanksgiving, the Christmas Holidays, Spring Break, and... we now have the summer holidays... If this unsub continues to adhere to a student's schedule, he could get quite busy in the coming weeks!"

"Exactly," Hotch answered. "That's why we've been 'urgently' invited by the local authorities, as they have had no luck figuring out how these men were connected to their killer, or whether the unsub was a patron at the Club, or somebody on the prowl in the neighbourhood. Last week, John Sears was killed despite much heavier police patrols in the area and three officers in civilian clothes inside the bar. They're worried there will be more victims this summer, but an increased police presence might force the unsub to change location..."

Everyone understood the requirements of this assignment: about two days to come up with a profile, probably followed with a discreet stake out at the Sherwood Club on Wednesday night.

"We take off in 30 minutes." Hotch picked up his files and left the room with the others, while Penelope stayed behind to tidy up the room. Morgan, last to leave, hesitated at the door:

"Everything okay, Baby Girl?" he finally asked as he walked back towards her.

"I'm in a bad mood, don't mind me," Garcia replied with a slight pout.

"Why? What happened?" and Morgan waited patiently while Garcia seemed to want to delay answering.

"I'm sorry, I guess I'm just tired... I had to come in yesterday... on my first day off this month!" she added pointedly. "I had to help Cooper's team, they requested me... Anyway, we caught the guys... Then Hotch called me to give me the case to prepare for this morning. Usually, I'd come in early the next morning; Hotch tries to give me enough heads up to plan it the way I want. Since I was already here, I decided to stay a while longer and get the slides and files ready..."

She sighed, looking discouraged. "I forgot I had already called Kevin before Hotch called, so when I got home ninety minutes later than expected, his dinner was burned. He had cooked a wonderful dinner, planned a romantic evening, but it was late, I was tired, hungry, and the food looked like a dead carcass after the buzzards are finished with it. We almost got into a fight. Then I didn't sleep well..."

Morgan was looking at her, sympathetically, but was still concerned.

"You're sure that's all it is? You've been a little... not your usual smiley-self, lately."

"Derek, don't start! I'm not in the mood! Just go and let me do my job without worrying if people are profiling me because I'm not as cheerful as my usual self. Can't someone just be off a few days? I'll bounce back, you know me!" she added in protest, but with a crooked smile, showing that being able to talk about it had helped already. She had to admit that she felt grateful for his attention, but she kept that thought to herself.

Her friend gave in, trying not to make more out of it. He saluted with a smile and left to get ready for the trip to Princeton.


	2. Chapter 2

This second chapter is shorter, but I'm adding the third one today, right after this one! Thanks for the initial reviews!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything, just borrowing CM and its characters for fun.

oooooooooo

During the short flight, the team tried to familiarize themselves with the details of the case. Armed with an electronic pad in one hand and a cup of tea or coffee in the other, they were soon ready to exchange their thoughts. Reid started:

"We might be looking for an unsub of Japanese descent... New Jersey has a growing Asian population, and so does Princeton."

"Someone who might be a fan of karaoke, maybe even a singer?" said Prentiss. "We need to find out if the victims were participating, or just listening... Our unsub might be competitive."

"He's eliminating competition, alright," commented Morgan, after drinking from his cup. "He aimed for their faces; to hit their mouths, maybe? Or because they were good-looking?"

"Or, we might have someone who _can't_ sing, is not good-looking, and very jealous..." Seaver wondered. "This unsub uses a long rifle, a hunting rifle probably or a sport rifle. He could be a competitive shooter. His aim is quite accurate."

Morgan countered: "They determined that he was at a fairly close range, at most fifty feet from his victims. The men were sitting in their cars parked in front of their home, or walking to their front door when they were killed. Not difficult targets to hit."

"So our guy is not looking for a challenge. He wants a hit; easy, quick, no witness," Rossi responded. "He probably didn't even need to get out of his vehicle. Might be competitive, but not over-confident."

Seaver sounded puzzled: "What about the location? Why does he keep coming back to the same bar? There are other karaoke nights in Princeton..."

"Maybe he works or lives nearby, he's comfortable in that neighbourhood. That would fit a not-so-confident profile..." Reid offered.

Prentiss added: "And not too bright? Unless he's delusional... He's able to escape the attention of the police patrols, so he blends in; maybe forced to stay there, or he's obsessed by something connected to the bar."

"We need to know why he chooses this bar." Hotch grabbed his cell phone and connected with their technical analyst: "Garcia, would you check and see how many places offer a karaoke night in Princeton? We'll need where and when..."

She promptly replied with the tone of a waitress: "One stack of karaoke bars or nights in Princeton coming right up! Anything else I can do for you, _mon capitaine_?"

"Could you also give us a list of the employees at the Sherwood Club, and any record you may find on these people." Hotch looked at the others to see if anyone had anything to add, then simply thanked Garcia, knowing she'd send the lists as soon as she could. Morgan, with a small grin, was satisfied to hear the analyst had regained her usual playfulness.

Rossi commented, "We need to develop our victimology a bit more..."

"And we don't have much time to come up with that and a profile. We'll set up base and meet with..." Hotch checked his pad, "...Detective Mitch Sorrell, the officer assigned to the case. Then we'll arrange meetings with the families and friends of the victims, and see if we can find out more about what happened the nights of the killings. Rossi and Seaver, you cover the first two victims, Morgan and Reid, you take the last two, Prentiss and I will talk with the employees at the Sherwood Club."

"What if our unsub is an employee at the bar?" asked Seaver.

"The police obviously did not scare off anybody with their interviews after the third murder since there was a fourth victim last week. It's probably not an employee; if that's wrong, then hopefully, we'll be able to spot our unsub during our interviews," he looked to Prentiss.

Prentiss wanted to share Hotch's confidence, but felt a little doubtful; however, she showed her best resolute affect to the others. There was no time for self-doubt.

oooooooooo

The team met with Detective Sorrell, a solid man in his fifties with a pleasant demeanor, but showing definite stress and fatigue in his body language. They exchanged names and pleasantries, and then set up office in a small conference room adjacent to the busy common area of the police station.

"I'm grateful for you coming in so fast," Sorrell began, "we're short-staffed right now because of three conventions, a music festival, and a political rally all happening now or in the coming weeks. I can ask for back up anytime we need it, but I'm pretty much on my own to run the investigation at this point."

"We understand your situation, Detective," Hotch replied. "We are short on time, though, so we need to get started immediately."

Soon, they were making calls to the families of the victims to set up interviews. Two of the victims had been killed at the family homes, so they decided to conduct all the meetings on site and Detective Sorrell would take Hotch and Prentiss to the other two crime scenes. Everyone would meet at the Sherwood Club afterwards to collect their findings.

The coroner's reports read like a repetition of the same case, and other than the very similar facial gunshot wounds, there was not much else to report. None of them showed evidence of defensive wounds or any other injury. Some of the victims had a very elevated alcohol level, one was negative for alcohol, one had used recreational drugs...

Garcia sent the two lists requested. The first confirmed that several other establishments offered a karaoke night at least once a month throughout the city, but none closer to the university than the Club. The second list gave the names of the bar's current employees and their criminal records. One waiter had been arrested for possession of marijuana, twice; the man had been working at the bar for four years. Garcia had dug a little, but had found nothing new that the police had not already found out.

The team went off on their dual assignments.


	3. Chapter 3

"The CIA is made up of boys whose families sent them to Princeton but wouldn't let them into the family brokerage business."  
><strong>Lyndon B. Johnson<strong>

oooooooooo

"Have you ever gone to a karaoke bar?"

Seaver was looking at Rossi with a casual smile, unable to guess if the older man had ever participated in either singing, or listening to and cheering for friends. They had both just arrived at the home of Sam Crocker's family and were coming out of the SUV they had picked up at the airport upon landing.

"Yes, I have. And you?" he answered with his usual detachment.

"Oh, a couple of times. But I sing out of tune, so, it's not really my scene..."

"What is your scene, then?"

Seaver almost gulped. She now regretted starting this conversation. What answer could she give that did not sound corny or lame to this man?

"Rock climbing," she decided. "I like the outdoors. So, you like singing?"

Rossi was amused by her attempt to return the topic of conversation on him, but he played along:

"I like opera and jazz, but I let professionals perform... I can't sing outside my shower. Plus, karaoke bars are not big on opera."

She had to agree and nodded her assent broadly.

Interviewing the Crocker family was not easy. With one son involved with drug dealers, and the other killed on the front lawn of their home a few months ago, the amount of anxiety and despair Mrs Crocker felt was palpable in the room. However, both parents seemed eager to talk about Sam, and answered openly all the questions the agents had for them.

The information was standard: Sam was single, sociable, an excellent student, had many talents including singing and dancing, and was popular with women. He had had a history of marijuana use, but they both believed he had stopped a few years ago. He drank in moderation, was not aggressive, and had actually more of a relaxed, happy-go-lucky personality; he had no enemies that anyone knew of. He had taken a cab home from the bar that night, at the request of his parents, but, according to the police report, the cab driver had not noticed anything unusual and did not know if it had been followed.

A different portrait was obtained from the friends and family of Yoshio Mizuki. He liked to go to the karaoke bar regularly despite not drinking alcohol, and was a very hard-working Ph.D. student. He was shy and reserved, but his occasional singing got him some attention. He usually went out with two good friends who looked out after him, although he was their designated driver each time. The night he was killed had been similar to many previous ones: Yoshio and his friends had sung that night, they had had some fun talking with some 'fans' afterwards, and he had driven his buddies home at the end of the evening. He had been found dead at his parents' home, still sitting at the wheel of his car. His family was devastated.

Meanwhile, Reid and Morgan obtained information from the families and friends of Ren Nozawa. Ren worked at Princeton University as a teacher's assistant and enjoyed the night life. He was an avid karaoke singer and had many friends and admirers he met regularly at the Sherwood Club. That last night, he had left the bar early with a girl and then had hooked up with other friends at a dancing club, The Roxy, and finished the night there. None of his friends knew if he had left the dance club alone, but they all said he had arrived by himself; they had not seen the girl from the Sherwood Club. Friends from the bar did not know who the girl was, either; he had met with her at the bar and left without introducing her to his friends. His body had been found in his car, in front of his apartment building.

The last victim, John Sears, had no family locally, so Reid and Morgan met with his colleagues at the electronic equipment store. They described a loner who enjoyed electronics and singing. He had no close friends other than his workmates. They had gone to the Sherwood Club with him on previous occasions, but not the night he was killed, so they knew nothing of the circumstances of his last few hours on Earth. The police report said the taxi driver who had taken Sears home had noticed a dark pick-up truck following him most of the way, but not when he had finally dropped off his customer.

Prentiss and Hotch visited the crime scenes for the last two victims with Mitch Sorrell, but did not find out more than they had already deducted from the reports. Shortly after, they went to interview the staff at the Club with Detective Sorrell. Reid and Morgan were first to join them, and Rossi and Seaver arrived in late afternoon. Prentiss related to her colleagues their findings, while Sorrell and Hotch finished talking to the last employee.

"The police reports were mostly complete, but we got more details about John Sears' activities. The other killings happened too long ago, we were not able to retrieve anything new. However, John Sears was seen leaving the Club around 11 pm last Wednesday: one waiter saw him leave with a woman, so we got more information about her. She was Asian, petite, shoulder-length black hair; but he didn't see her face. Interestingly, the owner of the Club remembers Sears coming in late, like 11:30 or so... definitely after 11, which would mean that he had left with the woman and he came back, alone..."

"That sounds a bit like Nozawa's story; he left with a woman, but arrived at the dance club alone," commented Reid.

Rossi and Seaver felt this could be significant as they added: "Our first two victims were always hanging out with girls after their singing."

"It is the way things play out usually, it seems, at this bar," explained Prentiss. "'Groupies' wait for the male performers to be done and hang out with them. Regulars get a real following, too."

"So this maybe more about girls than singing," Morgan suggested.

"It's a definite possibility," answered Prentiss.

Rossi was smiling with a satisfied, knowing grin. "This would make a lot more sense to me, finally. We've seen this before, haven't we?"

"What? Jealousy? Competition for women? Yes, that sounds vaguely familiar as a motive for killing," Seaver replied.

"Sexually motivated crimes usually target the women, though," Reid reminded the others.

"We still don't have enough for a definite profile..." Rossi began.

"We also tried to get more information about the songs, or singing styles of our victims," offered Prentiss. "The owner and the staff could not remember anything specific about the first three victims and they do not keep records of who sang what, when... The owner hosts Karaoke night; he thinks they sang ballads or pop tunes, like most of what's played, here. The last man sung 'Ebb Tide', last week. They remembered because no one ever sings anything that old. But he sang very well and received loud applause."

Morgan was about to comment, but stopped when he saw Hotch and Sorrell approach their group. They were all standing in a hallway leading to the back offices and storage areas, while the staff was mostly busy in the public area and behind the bar, out of earshot.

"The staff doesn't remember more than they have already stated in the police reports, but they do remember that our two youngest victims, the Japanese Americans, were popular with the girls, or 'groupies'," Hotch shared quietly. "They don't think the two older men were as popular."

Sorrell moved toward the large opening to the main area, guiding the team to follow him. He pointed at the bar at the back of the room, to their right: "The girls tend to hang out by the bar, during and after the songs; they are in groups that know each other, most are students in their twenties, and they like to flirt with the singers, giving them a bit of an 'idol' status. Especially the young and cute guys..."

"How young?" asked Morgan.

"Twenties, early thirties..." Sorrell replied.

"Our men are older, but were seen with these groups of girls, at the bar." Hotch turned to Sorrell: "Did you run the credit card numbers on the four nights of the killings, to see who was present on all four Wednesdays?"

"Yes, we did," Sorrell answered. "We found over forty card owners were present at least three of the four nights, and thirty one were present at all four. We ran a check for police records and long gun registration, and ended up with nothing for either one."

"He paid cash..." Rossi stated the obvious explanation. "I'm sure our unsub has some sort of previous record. This can't be his first foray into crime."

"Is our unsub observing this 'groupies' ritual, or taking part in it?" wondered Reid, out loud.

They walked in and noticed the dusty atmosphere, the worn out carpet and furniture, the musty smell. The staff had just finished cleaning the place and some customers were already starting to arrive. Everyone was trying to imagine the scene, at night, with the crowd filling the place and young people gathering in the open area in front of the bar. There was a fair amount of space there, while series of small round tables occupied the center of the room, and at the other end, the front stage with lights, speakers, and equipment was on a platform raised about a foot from the ground level. The lighting was low, and there were no visible windows. Rock music was playing in the background.

They returned to the hallway behind the walls as they followed Hotch who was dialling for Garcia on his cell phone.

"Garcia, can you collect all the credit card numbers that were run at the Sherwood Club on the four nights of the killings and find which ones belong to women in their late twenties or thirties?"

"You think we're dealing with a female unsub?" inquired Seaver, while Hotch was listening to Garcia's answer. He thanked Garcia before hanging up and answering the young woman.

"It's possible, but not likely," he told her. "Our unsub uses a long gun and drives a dark pick-up truck... I think it's more likely that some of the women have met our unsub, and we need to interview them as witnesses."

"How long before we get that list?" Sorrell inquired.

"Garcia is quick, but she'll need at least an hour. That gives us time to take a break to eat. Then Dave and I will start looking at that list. The rest of the team should come back here, tonight. You should get a feel for the place, and figure out how we're going to blend in tomorrow night. So you should probably dress more casually and pair up, and hopefully, not be too conspicuous..."

"You want back-up tonight and tomorrow night?" the Detective asked.

"I don't think so, not tonight. Tomorrow night, probably, especially patrol cars... I don't know, yet, we need to figure it out."

"I have an idea for tomorrow night, and we would need help from your men, I think," intervened Morgan.

"What do you have in mind?" Rossi turned to him.

"We could use an undercover cop who fits the victimology and have him sing at karaoke tomorrow night. He could draw out our unsub, we would watch and cover him. We could wire him, too." Morgan suggested.

"Well, we definitely don't want any potential victim allowed to sing tomorrow night, at least, not civilian ones. I was about to talk to the owner about that; he's the DJ on karaoke night." Hotch announced. "But it's a good idea to try to lure the unsub with one of your men. Do you think you can find a volunteer for tomorrow night?" he asked Sorrell.

Sorrell was a bit hesitant. "I wish we had more time, but yes, I'll certainly give it a try."

"We need someone who can sing well and matches our victims' appeal: thirties to early forties, dark hair, Asian or Caucasian, single, at least for tomorrow night..." Morgan described the requirements to the detective.

Sorrell took off on his quest for a singing-dark-haired policeman, while the team went to eat dinner, freshen up, and change before returning to the Club.


	4. Chapter 4

A little more investigating, a little humor... things are moving along... Don't give up, yet, the best stuff is at the end!

"The greatest thing in family life is to take a hint when a hint is intended – and not to take a hint when a hint isn't intended."  
><strong>Robert Frost<strong>

oooooooooo

The next morning, during a quick, early breakfast the team wearily exchanged their thoughts about their evening at the Sherwood Club and their plans for the coming night. Then, carrying mugs of coffee with them, they congregated at the police station in their assigned room. Surrounded by billboards covered with crime scene pictures and others from their case, Detective Sorrell introduced them to Officer Mark Jenner. The young policeman had experience with karaoke, apparently, and volunteered to sing and be the bait during their stakeout. His hair colour matched the victims', but his facial expression looked even sterner than Hotch's and he had thirty pounds, at least, on the heaviest of the victims. He also had a crew cut, which gave him a military look.

Reid, Morgan, and the others were looking at each other with dubious looks. They still accepted his help and gave him pointers on how he should dress and behave while in the bar. They asked him about the kind of song he could sing; unfortunately, he was only familiar with country music. They tried to pick one country song that would still be 'pop' enough to attract the attention of the unsub.

Officer Jenner left, and they turned to Sorrell, who realized his man fell short of what was needed. Reid had been stretching his neck and his mouth, looking hesitant, and finally said what they were all thinking:

"Hotch, you look more like the victims than he does..." he pointed to Jenner through the glass door.

Hotch, however, ignored him and tried to lighten up their expectations:

"I talked with the owner of the club last night and he understands that no man fitting the victimology will be allowed to go on, tonight, except for our undercover man. Jenner will have no competition, so hopefully, our unsub will notice him..."

"Or he might switch to blond haired men," argued Prentiss, as she agreed with Reid, "or more likely, he'll wait for another Wednesday to find a better target." Then she figured that Hotch could probably not pull off the singing part of the assignment and regretted speaking up.

"Even if we did provide our unsub with the perfect target, there's no way of knowing if he'll strike today, or will even be there. The best we can do is set up for tonight, train the local police, and they'll have to conduct further stakeouts like this one during the summer." Hotch replied calmly. He turned to Sorrell: "Would you see if you can find a couple of young officers for tonight, men and women who look like they could fit with the university crowd?"

"I'll see what I can do," nodded Sorrell and he left the room.

The team sat at the conference table and started to share a pile of file folders.

"These are the women who used their credit cards all four evenings of the killings?" Morgan asked as he grabbed and opened the first file.

"Yes," Rossi replied. "We got a list of thirteen women from Garcia, and we eliminated five black women as less likely to fit the profile. Of the eight women left, five are Asian-Americans. We got picture IDs and addresses for all eight, and as much background information we could gather in one evening. Two of the Asian-Americans have straight, shoulder-length hair according to their driver's licence and Facebook page, so these two are the firsts we should interview. Hopefully, one of them was with John Sears last week."

"If one of them is our unsub, or knows the unsub, we risk exposing our investigation..." Reid began.

"It's a risk we have to take," Morgan cut him off.

"I agree, but let's be careful. You and Rossi should interview these two women," Hotch told Morgan. Then he ordered: "I want everyone to check the pictures of all eight women. They will probably be at the Club, tonight, so you all need to know their faces, because they will recognize some of ours, so they'll know we're FBI. Then, Reid and Prentiss will interview three of the women, and Seaver, you're with me; we'll take the last three."

Morgan's cell phone rang while everyone was studying the faces on the pictures. He put Garcia on speaker: "I tried doing some more digging about the eight women, but found no connection to anyone with criminal records, except for Judy Lee, a Chinese-American, whose Facebook page lists Shaun Quint as her boyfriend and he..." they can all hear her madly typing on her computer keyboard as she continues: "...has been charged for possession of marijuana last January. No other conviction or charges. He's lead a pretty clean life, it seems, otherwise: football, tennis, at Princeton studying Social Sciences... All these women and their families and friends are really squeaky clean. So I did one more thing...

"I looked for boyfriends, friends, family in their thirties, forties. All these women are in their early twenties and I could not find anyone fitting our age profile in their entourage... I can't find any lead, I'm sorry."

She sounded disappointed and tired, as if she had had a long night, working on those files.

"Thanks, Baby Girl, we appreciate you looking after this," Morgan affectionately acknowledged her contribution before she hung up without a word. He sighed; she sounded down, again, and that renewed his concerns for her.

The team went off to do their interviews with the eight women, and upon their return, each duo shared their findings, or more accurately, their lack of any new useful information. Some of the women had recognized the victims, but they had never talked to them as they were usually accompanied by a male friend, or were part of the groupies that liked to hang out with younger singers. Even the two women Morgan and Rossi interviewed more thoroughly, especially about John Sears, had nothing to offer. All the women were genuinely shocked and horrified to hear that the men on the pictures were dead and many seemed too scared to want to return to the Club that evening.

oooooooooo

They had just finished presenting their partial profile to the police officers at the station, the ones who would be on duty and patrolling the area of the Sherwood Club all evening. Sorrell had also found two young officers who would be joining them, in civilian clothes; they would be getting some tips and training on this type of operation. The team had then returned to the small private room by themselves and figured out their plan of action.

They were still sitting at the conference table, it was late afternoon, and they knew they had run out of time. The profile they had given was incomplete; they still did not know why the unsub had specifically targeted those men. The mood around the table was restrained; they were about to leave to get something to eat and change before going to the Club.

"Reid, can you sing?" Hotch had his usual stance: elbows resting on the table, holding his palms together, but his gaze was down, as in a sort of prayer. The unexpected question startled the young man, who began to stammer and lose his countenance.

"D-do I...? I?... I'm... No! I... well,... No! I don't... I can't... You can't... You can't ask me to..." he was quickly trying to find a way to dissuade Hotch from picking on him for this assignment. "I don't have dark hair!... What about Morgan?" Reid desperately struggled to refocus the amused looks he was receiving from everyone onto Morgan. Morgan snorted and shifted in his chair.

"Reid, I don't have any problem with singing, but my shade is a tad too dark... And the hair..." he stated the obvious and they all agreed. Rossi looked at Hotch:

"Can YOU sing?"

"I'm too old," Hotch stated plainly.

"To sing?" mocked Rossi.

"For the victimology," Hotch was annoyed he had to explain himself.

Prentiss' mouth was pouting a little as she ventured a comment:

"You don't really look older than John Sears, and if you were to just relax a little, loosen the tie..." She stopped when Hotch glared at her. Seaver agreed with Prentiss, but did not know how to be helpful; yet, she had to offer a suggestion:

"Maybe a little make-up? I have my concealer, here, for dark circles..." She, too, stopped dead in her tracks the moment her innocent doe eyes looked up from her belt pouch and met Hotch's glacial stare.

Morgan jumped on the bandwagon: "It's obvious you are the only one here who fits the victims' profile. Can you sing in public? Any karaoke experience?" He sounded as if he was interviewing Hotch for a job and that approach was better received than the previous suggestions of make-up and relaxation.

"None in twenty years," admitted Hotch.

Seaver, puzzled, looked to Reid: "Is karaoke that old?" she asked, discretely, but everyone heard her and could not hold back chuckles. Reid clasped his lips together, and avoided answering her question.

Hotch sighed and shook his head: "I'll think about it; but let's wait and see how Jenner does tonight."

oooooooooo

"You're kidding? She said that? To Hotch?" Garcia could not believe her ears. Morgan was pleased to hear her cheerful giggles as he was telling her the conversation that had happened earlier. It had been a good idea to call and check on her before he entered the Club.

"She did... Got to go! Wish us luck!" Morgan hung up.

According to their plan, he was going to act as the new bouncer for the bar. He had dressed up appropriately for the role: black t-shirt and pants. His muscular arms and pectorals were ideal for his part. He had borrowed Hotch's ankle holster for his gun, so he could hide it from view, as the tight shirt and pants did not withhold anything.

Once inside, he saw the place was already busy with a youthful crowd. There was a lot more excitement in the air than on the previous night. Karaoke night attracted a more expressive and enthusiastic group of people than the usual bar patrons, although university students always dominated the scene. He quickly located Reid and Seaver, acting like a couple of students on a date, sitting at one of the tables nearest to the bar. Prentiss was on her own, at one end of the bar, and Rossi was at the other end. They were both dressed in black shirts, but Prentiss' was sexy, while Rossi's was more the sports look. Despite the heat, Reid and Rossi were wearing jackets, so they could hide their gun holsters. They were all smiling and looking like they were at the bar to have a good time.

"Hello, gang," Morgan almost whispered in his wrist microphone, and the two women nodded to him: they were wearing their earpiece, hidden by their hair falling loosely on their shoulders. Reid and Rossi could not hear him: they had their earpiece hidden under the collar, not yet in place so as to not reveal their identity.

Morgan then spotted the two police officers in plain clothing: they were trying to blend in, but they looked tense and jumpy. Morgan sighed and shook his head, but felt that they would probably distract the unsub's attention from his team, so it was not such a bad thing.

Morgan went down the hallway to the main office. He found Hotch with Rick Lemmon, the owner of the bar; they were discussing the details of the karaoke night with Sorrell and Jenner. Lemmon, a friendly fifty year old man, wore long dark hair and small purple glasses; he looked like the lead singer of the rock band _Rush_, Geddy Lee.

"We don't want any dark-haired male on your roster, tonight. Have you found an excuse for taking them off the list?" Sorrell asked him.

"Don't worry, I took care of it. And any newcomer tonight will be told we're fully booked... But I have concerns for the coming weeks: I won't be able to keep them away forever, so I hope you will be able to find that creep, sooner rather than later..."

"We will do our best to stop him, sir, that's why the FBI is here," Sorrell assured him, "and that's why we have Officer Jenner on your roster. We're hoping to bait him into exposing himself."

"I'll cooperate with anything you want, as long as we can keep people safe, and hopefully keep it quiet, too..." Lemmon expressed with deep worry.

"Our priority is the safety of your patrons. And discretion will work for us, too, so we're all on the same page, here," Hotch reassured him.

"Hotch," interrupted Morgan, "I can see you've removed your tie, but what are you doing wearing your suit? That's not bar attire!"

"I'll stay in the back, don't worry, and I need to cover my gun, so..." Hotch hesitated, "I'll take it off if necessary. Garcia, you're picking up everybody?" he inquired in his wrist mike.

"I'm receiving all of your signals, sir, loud and clear!" Garcia's voice sounded muffled in his earpiece. Detective Sorrell also heard her in his borrowed earpiece, but Morgan wasn't wearing his, as he could not hide it from the public eye. Hotch continued:

"What about Officer Jenner? Say something, please, so we can test your wire," he asked Mark Jenner, who had been fitted to wear a wire under his shirt.

"One-two-three, testing, testing, one-two-three," Jenner complied, using a normal tone of voice.

Hotch nodded to him as he heard Garcia's confirmation, as well as Prentiss' and Seaver's. "We're set. Please go hang out, relax, mingle, enjoy yourself. We'll be keeping an eye on you and everyone around you. Mr. Lemmon will call you out when your turn to sing comes. The barman has been instructed to serve us all non-alcoholic drinks, but they'll look like the real thing, so it won't matter what you order, you won't be drinking tonight."

"Understood, sir," acknowledged Jenner, and he departed for the main area, followed by Morgan.

Hotch and Sorrell were soon left alone in the office, as Lemmon needed to attend to his duties. They listened to what was going on while watching two security camera feeds on two small TV screens: the first showed the outside entrance and part of the parking lot, and the other showed the main room, with the bar in the foreground, and stage in the background. The images were small and blurry, of poor quality because of the low lighting, but their eyes got slowly used to the conditions, and they soon were able to recognize Jenner, Rossi, and Prentiss. The others were hidden by other people, or too far away to be seen.


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter introduces the unsub, finally... and there's also a surprise...

QUOTE:

"As a general thing, when a woman wears the pants in a family, she has a good right to them."  
><strong>Josh Billings<strong>

oooooooooo

"I think I'm going to reward myself and have a drink, tonight," said Yukie to her brother Takumi. They were sharing a table almost front centre of the Sherwood Club, a better spot than what they usually found on karaoke night, and since she had finished and aced her final exams, Yukie felt twice as motivated to celebrate in a special way. Her usual glass of coca-cola was half empty, but it was not satisfying her.

"You want another beer, Tak? It's on me," she offered.

"I told you before, I don't like you buying me my drinks," the man replied, taciturn. He was not sharing her cheerful mood... he rarely was in a light mood to begin with, and his sister knew that, but she never let it affect her.

Takumi was from the old school, where the man was in charge; he was the provider, the protector of the women. It did not matter to him that his sister was actually the leader of their family; that she was brighter, independent, self-reliant, and was the one helping him get by while he was looking for work. Since their parents' death, being the only son, he felt he should take charge of her, but she did not need him, while he needed her help.

"You should not be drinking anything but sodas, you're not used to alcohol," he warned his sister, suddenly concerned. He knew that she led a very strict life during the school year, solely focused on her graduate studies, karaoke night being the only pleasure she allowed herself when she was less busy and did not have any classes the next morning.

"It's okay, I'm not driving," she joked. They both knew that she took the bus to and from Princeton's campus to commute. She usually did not catch a ride home with her brother, for three main reasons: first, he refused to refrain from drinking and driving; not that he was ever drunk, but still, it was her best excuse to decline his offer to take her home. Second, she liked to go home early, and he liked to stay late at the bar; she did not want to cramp his style. Finally – and she did not want him to know this – she was trying to hide him from her friends at the University; their opinion of her would be tarnished if they met her slovenly, grumpy, poor brother. She was always afraid that she'd run into them at the Club, that's why she usually kept to herself and hid from the other students as much as she could. Her friends did not like karaoke anyway, so chances were good she would be spared an awkward encounter.

"And you're here! You'll keep me from embarrassing myself, won't you?" she teased him with a cynical tone. She found it ironic that he always worried about how her behaviour affected her reputation – and his – but that he could not or would not acknowledge how he, himself – his look, his actions – impacted on their family's image.

"I'm just going to have a wine cooler or something like that, don't worry," she added to reassure him as she checked to see if she had correct change for the drink and a tip. "I better hurry before the next singer comes on... It might be a cute guy, this time!" she giggled self-depreciatingly at her girlish hopes and quickly headed for the bar.

Takumi's disapproving look followed Yukie and his mood became even more sullen at the thought of his sister hooking up with a stranger and... But he knew how to prevent all of that, how to stop the potential suitors...

oooooooooo

Mark Jenner was standing near the bar, next to a group of laughing and squealing girls, but no one was paying attention to him. He was trying to look relaxed, was sipping from his mug of non-alcoholised beer, and looking around him, mostly bored with the scene. He had finished his song forty minutes ago and had since been mostly ignored by the so-called groupies. They were looking at and talking about, or with, younger guys.

The team had been watching everything that was going on, and they, too, felt that they were not any closer to identifying their unsub. The place was full of Asian-American men and women and though most were in their twenties, there were still too many in their thirties and forties for them to narrow down their focus.

Rossi decided they had waited long enough; he made eye contact with Prentiss who was striving to get rid of two men who were competing for her attention, then with Morgan who was watching the crowd from the sides, and he headed for the back office. Entering the room, he found Hotch and Sorrell talking with Rick Lemmon.

"How many more singers do you have after this one?" Hotch asked the owner.

"I have eight more signed up. Sometimes a few more want to be added at the last minute. I let them in if there's time..." Lemmon replied.

"What time do you end the..." but Hotch did not have a chance to finish his question, Rossi interrupted him.

"Hotch, it did not work. We've been scanning the crowd. No one is paying attention to Jenner, man or woman, young or old... He did not do a bad job," he added, looking at Sorrell, "but he's not close enough to our victims' profile. We've got to try again," now looking at Hotch.

"I know. Let me get ready, first; then I'll need your help choosing a song," he added, speaking to Lemmon. He spoke next in his wrist radio: "Garcia, let everyone know we're trying again, I'll be the bait, so I need to remove my earpiece. I'll put on a wire later."

"Everyone heard you, except Morgan, whom I'll call on his cell right now, and Reid will be told by Agent Seaver, correct?..."

"Correct!" they all heard from Seaver.

"... and I assume you'll tell Agent Rossi..." she trailed off.

"Yes, he knows... Hotchner out."

He took off his earpiece, his jacket, his gun in its belt holster, and his wrist microphone. "I'll put on the wire after the song, in case my shirt isn't thick enough to hide it while I'm under the spotlight..."

Rossi made a face: "You still look like FBI... Can you mess up your hair, or something?"

Hotch was getting annoyed once again, but he went to a small mirror on the wall and realized he needed to soften his expression and look less like he was "on official business". He looked behind him to Rick Lemmon and his purple-colored glasses.

"Do you have another pair of those I could borrow?" he wondered.

Hotch tried on a pair of yellow-tinted glasses Lemmon found for him. They were scratched and he was seeing blurry through them, but if he only wore them during his song... and, as long as he knew the words to the song, of course... the glasses would make him look more...

"Cool!" Rossi approved the new look. "They make you look younger, too! It's perfect! What are you going to sing?"

Hotch looked at Lemmon: "Do you have the Beatles' White Album in your catalog?"

"Of course! Let me send off the next singer and I'll show you our selection," Lemmon answered and they headed backstage, while Rossi, barely restraining a smile, spoke into his wrist radio: "Hotch is getting ready. Let's stay focused, no matter what happens, people," he reminded them.

"I'll let my two officers know what's going on, can you talk to Jenner?" Detective Sorrell asked Rossi.

"Of course. We still need to keep Jenner under watch, though, just in case, so tell your people to not lose sight of him. My team will focus on Hotchner."

oooooooooo

Morgan felt his cell phone vibrate more than he heard it ring; the noise in the bar was louder between the singers. He covered his ear and listened to Garcia telling him about the new plan. However, she, too, had a plan and for it to succeed, she needed Morgan's help.

"You want to do what?" Morgan was not sure he had heard her correctly.

"I want to record the song, but I need your help. I need you to leave your cell phone on and put it next to a speaker... Don't worry; I'll deal with the back ground noises and the distortion with my equipment, here."

"Garcia! You can't do that! _I_ can't do that! You're trying to make me lose my job, woman?" Morgan protested loudly, because of the noise, but also because he was getting upset.

"Please, please, Morgan, I've never asked you for anything..." she begged.

"What?" Morgan could recall easily several occasions when he had obliged her wishes.

"Okay, okay, this is a special request, though. I need this. It will be my protection."

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember when Hotch lied to me? When he promised he'd keep my secret a secret but then he didn't? Well, I thought it would be nice if I had some protection against people changing their minds and breaking their word..."

"This is not going to work, Garcia. How are you going to use this without letting him know how you got it? And why you got it? Hey?" Morgan was not happy and strived to let her know how much he disapproved of her plan.

"I don't really want to use it, Morgan, I just want to know I have something I COULD use if I really, really needed it. I just want to feel like I'm protected against nasty surprises. It's more to reassure me than to protect me, really... You're right, I could never let Hotch know what I did, so no, I could never use this recording, but..."

"You mean, 'what we did'..." Morgan was starting to bend to her will and she quickly realized it.

"Thank you, thank you! I'll call you when it's time!" and Garcia hung up, leaving Morgan shell shocked and already hating himself for agreeing to help her with her crazy scheme.


	6. Chapter 6

Question to the reader: Is the story too predictable to be enjoyable? How do you think it will end? ;-)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds and its characters, nor to any of the Beatles' songs. I tried to limit the amount of lyrics I did put down in the story in an attempt to respect copyrights, but if anyone wants to read the lyrics to the whole song, please Google "Beatles lyrics" and add the name of the song (which I will not give here to not spoil the fun).

QUOTE:

"Family love is messy, clinging, and of an annoying and repetitive pattern, like bad wallpaper."

- **P. J. O'Rourke**

Yukie was disappointed with her evening; she usually enjoyed listening to the karaoke singers, especially the ones she could fantasize about afterward: the ones who sang well and looked like her ideal mate. As well, now that she had more free time, she was really hoping to see again one of the few men with whom she had become acquainted over the school year.

In the past months, each time she had found the courage to meet a potential boyfriend and talked with him, he had never answered her subsequent phone calls and had not even returned to the Sherwood Club. She had expected one of them would be here tonight, like John, the man she had met the previous Wednesday; but like the others before him, he had given her his number and had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared in her life. As an alternative, she had hoped that a new prospect would appear on the stage, but so far, there had only been girl singers and unsuitable males.

Her brother Tak seemed pleased with all the female singers, but she was beginning to think her summer would turn out exactly like her school year had been: lonely and full of disappointments.

Finally, a man appeared on stage, good looking, with funny little glasses that made him look sexy. Dark hair, tall, he was definitely getting her attention... and that of other women behind her, she could tell.

Takumi noticed the change in his sister and he watched her with resentment as the man started to sing.

oooo

Morgan's cell rang again just before Hotch came on stage, and he grudgingly left it turned on, at arms' length on the nearest speaker. He quickly forgot about the cell, though, as he and the other members of the team made eye contact. They were observing the reactions in the crowd, to see if anyone had noticed their 'bait'. Indeed, people were cheering and Hotch had not even opened his mouth, yet.

Hotch was sitting on a bar stool and waiting quietly for the music to start, his head down, the microphone in his hand. He was a bit nervous, but nothing like his first public appearance, playing 4th pirate in _The Pirates of Penzance –_ something he had done only to meet Hayley, back in high school. He had not volunteered for this current assignment until it was absolutely necessary, not because he was shy, but because he had wished to protect a very personal part of his life: love of music was one of the private things this job had not taken away from him... yet.

He could not read the words on the video screen because of the blurry glasses, but he knew the song by heart: it was Jack's favorite lullaby and he had sung it to him many times. This song always reminded him of happier times, such as when he would make it home early enough to put Jack to bed; on those few evenings, he had sung to their infant son with Hayley listening nearby.

The music started. They heard a few notes on a guitar and Hotch's voice softly began...

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings, and learn to fly..."_

Rossi and the others grinned, knowingly. They had all guessed what song Hotch was going to sing. Short, sweet, simple, and a song from his favourite album... It did not take a profiler to predict this one.

They had not anticipated, however, that he would be able to grab the crowd's attention; even the groupies at the bar were suddenly less rowdy.

"Prentiss, move to the front, you'll have a better look at the sitting crowd," Rossi suddenly spoke in his wrist, "I'll cover the groupies."

Prentiss jumped when she heard her name, but quickly recovered and slowly walked towards the stage, flowing between the tables, briefly looking at the faces of the people as she passed by. Nothing suspicious caught her eye; they were all enjoying the show, or their drink, or talking and laughing with their friends.

From their table at the back, Reid and Seaver were witnessing the same thing. No one had an unusual energy, or a weird focus on Hotch, or seemed to voluntarily ignore him, either. Morgan was also closely watching people in the dark; he was resting his back against the wall, trying to look nonchalant, and he could see nothing worrisome. Rossi and Jenner were busy scanning the groupies and their friends, not an easy task, as they were moving about and turning and switching places...

"_... You were only waiting for this moment to be free..."_

Takumi was seething, staring at his sister, yet hiding his rage from her. It was not too difficult as she was not paying any attention to him; she was staring at the man singing on stage, a smile appearing on her face. He noticed the people around him were also all focused on the singer, except maybe for the slim brunette who was approaching from the far side. He felt suddenly alarmed; she was paying attention to the crowd, not to what was happening on the front stage.

"... _Into the light of the dark black night!"_

The words rang loud and soulful. He watched the brunette freeze and turn to the singer, as if mesmerized. Takumi had a disgusted smirk: she, like the others, was falling for it! But he was still concerned: perhaps she was an undercover cop, looking for him. He tried to put his face in the shadows and to look natural, like the other men around him. He took another sip of his beer as he watched her again turn her gaze toward the tables, toward his area. But she did not notice him and he smiled ruthlessly, encouraged that he could fool her so easily.

oooo

Garcia was recording Hotch and listening, mouth gapped open. She had not anticipated that she would actually enjoy his singing! Her boss was full of surprises! She managed to refrain from making any noise – she wanted to giggle so badly! – until he was finished. Then she heard the applause and cheers, and she heard Morgan call her name:

"Garcia?"

"Wow! Did you hear that?"

"I need to go now," Morgan said, rolling his eyes. He just knew he would live to regret his role in this venture, but his focus was needed elsewhere, so he did not want to prolong the call. He hung up as she was thanking him profusely.

The crowd was getting noisy again, but he had a distinct feeling their unsub was somewhere in the dark, right in front of him...

Prentiss was across the room, facing Morgan. She felt unnerved, suddenly, as if she was being observed. Did Morgan see her react to Hotch's song? She could kick herself for getting distracted earlier, but strangely, she was still unable to focus on the job, as if she felt exposed. Was it Morgan, or someone else...? _The unsub is here, and they saw me!_

Her eyes were piercing through the dark, searching for the source of her discomfort. She decided to not make eye contact with anyone from the team, to not call them, and not reveal their presence. If the unsub was watching her, it was better to stay aside, monopolize his attention, and distract him from the others. _Two can play this game,_ she thought.

oooo

"What do we do now? Get another drink?" Reid asked Seaver while they were waiting for Hotch to join the crowd. They were both leaning forward, head to head, to talk discreetly and to look like a couple, not like conspirators. Their smiling, youthful faces were perfect camouflage for their real identities. This assignment was a pleasant one: they were discovering that they enjoyed each other's company and it was easy to work together.

"All we can do is act natural, so yes, when your glass is empty, you refill it," she answered, giving him their empty glasses and a telling look.

Reid smiled, got up, and headed for the bar, carrying both glasses with him. He felt like he was on a date, except that he was relaxed and finding it easy to be himself... _And except that this is not a date_, he reminded himself.

oooo

Rossi approached Jenner at the bar:

"Make sure you stay within eyesight of your two colleagues. Remember you are still wired, so you see anything suspicious, you just speak up, understood? I'll go help Agent Hotchner with his wire."

Jenner nodded. Prentiss, Seaver, and Garcia heard Rossi's instructions through Jenner's wire, while Reid and Morgan watched him head back stage. Rossi felt an irresistible urge to comment on Hotch's song, but kept repeating in his head: _I must not talk about the singing. I must not tease him about the singing..._

He found Hotch in the office; he had removed the tinted glasses and was testing the piece of equipment he was planning to wear as a wire.

"Nice voice! 'Want some help with that?" Rossi offered, proud of his self-control.

"No, thanks, I'll put it on myself," Hotch sternly retreated to the washroom, seeking privacy. Rossi was at first taken aback; then he guessed Hotch was still not ready to show his scars, not even to his close friend. _Sh**, I guess I goofed anyway._


	7. Chapter 7

I'm adding a second chapter today because I have time, and tomorrow, I won't!

Only 3 more chapters after this one, I think. OOPS! Sorry for the bold text, just fixed it! I'm still new at this stuff...

QUOTE:

"But the problem is that when I go around and speak on campuses, I still don't get young men standing up and saying, 'How can I combine career and family?'"

- **Gertrude Stein**

Another singer had just finished and there was still no sign of the handsome stranger. Yukie was getting worried. She had hoped to go and meet him, but he had not made any public appearance since his song. She was holding a small book, playing with it anxiously while her brother was giving it the evil eye.

"Why don't you go talk to girls instead of just sitting here, judging me?" she suggested, bitterly.

"I liked you better when you were too shy to go talk to men," replied Tak.

Yukie shook her head. She did not understand her brother. He was negative, mean at times, but probably because he was too lonely. The death of their parents had not helped, either. Since he had moved to Princeton, he had become angrier and more controlling, although she did not let him direct her life. Maybe he was getting worse because he had not worked for more than two weeks at a time; he did not seem able to keep a job for long. She empathized with his situation, but she was starting to wonder if supporting him financially was helping him, or hurting him more.

Then she saw him, the tall stranger, near the bar, drinking a beer and talking to some girls. He seemed easy to talk to, but he was surrounded by all these younger girls... Too young for him, really, she felt. She did not like competing for attention, she always lost. She preferred waiting, and her chances were good, usually, with older men: the young girls were too high-strung, especially in a group; some older men did not like that. At least, that was how she had met the few men she had had the chance to talk to during the past year. She held her book intently, patiently; the book had helped her break the ice when she was meeting people, karaoke singers mostly. She had found this way to break through her shyness all these months ago, but had not been able to move pass the book, yet.

She waited until the girls thinned out around the man. They had moved to the next sensation: a young blond athlete who had joined them after singing a favourite of the crowd; he knew how to please his fans. Yukie could now see the dark man engaged in conversation with a Japanese girl. He seemed interested in her for a while, but then she, too, left. Now was her chance.

"Wish me luck," she told Tak as she left him to his brooding. She patted his arm on her way, to say goodbye, but she would have been petrified if she had turned around at that moment and seen her brother's face. With his head low, his hunched shoulders hid his face, but after a moment, he sent a hateful look beyond her to the man she was going toward. He then shifted his eyes to the pretty brunette, who was still standing alone against the wall, still watching the crowd, still looking for him, and he grabbed his mug to drink and look casual.

He wanted this new prey, badly, even before he knew whether his sister was going to get involved with him or not, but he needed to be cautious. The brunette was not working alone, he was sure of that. He spotted a couple of police officers at a table nearby. _Just like last week._

He needed to disappear; he could not afford to wait or stay any longer, it was too dangerous. The answer was simple: he would wait for them in his truck past the bus stop, like he had done the previous times. He was sure his sister would get the man to escort her to the bus, like she had before. The man looked like a gentleman, he would not refuse her. _His last good deed... _

He checked, first, to see if the undercover cop was looking in his direction. He saw the brunette watch the man who was talking to his sister and misunderstood what was going on. _Good! She`s still hung up on him!_ And Takumi left the bar, quietly, without anyone noticing him.

Hotch knew they were all watching this new Japanese woman who had approached him with a book of autographs. She was small, hair straight, shoulder-length, thirties... She was asking him timidly to sign her book. She was so nervous that she dropped it before he could grab it. Hotch quickly picked it up and flipped through the book to find a blank page. As he did, he read the names on the pages and recognized at least two of the victims` names. He spoke to her, loudly, trying to catch everyone`s attention in the process.

"To what name should I make this?" he asked the woman, approaching her so her voice could be heard on the wire. She could only mutter a few words and got flustered, no one could hear her over the noise, not even Hotch. He grabbed her by the elbow and took her aside, away from the crowd. She was so pleased that he would single her out this way that she regained her speech:

"It's not necessary, just put your name down, please," she asked.

Looking at the last page with a signature, he read _John Sears_ and below it, _Ebb Tide_. "But I see, here, that you also want the title of the song... You have 'John Sears' and then 'Ebb Tide'," he commented with a smile, trying to appear very casual and accommodating, while feeding information to his team.

"I can do that, or you can, it doesn't matter..." the petite woman replied.

Hotch signed an assumed name and added the name of the song. Over the wire, Garcia, Prentiss, and Seaver had heard the name of the last victim and Garcia was quickly dialling Morgan's cell while the others signalled Reid and Rossi that they finally had a potential lead. Garcia provided a connection to Morgan so that he could follow the conversation over the phone. Rossi moved out of the room and put on his earpiece. Seaver leaned toward Reid, so she could repeat in his ear what she was hearing and make it look like they were whispering tender words to each other. Reid found the whole situation interesting, quite pleasant, and very distracting, but knew better than to voice any comment.

"Adam Hunt," they heard the woman read his signature.

"Call me Adam," Hotch said, extending his hand to her. "What's your name?" He gently shook hands with her, trying to not scare her away, but definitely hoping to feed Garcia with new information.

"Yukie," she answered too quietly for Hotch to understand the name. He got closer to her.

"I'm sorry?"

She was used to this, Americans did not know her Japanese name, and with her soft voice and the ambient noise, it was not easy to hear her. She started to draw letters in the air as she repeated her name, slowly:

"Yu-" and she drew the letter "U" in the air, "ki-" and she made as if she was turning a key in a lock, "-e" she ended by drawing the letter "A" and Hotch nodded his understanding.

"U-key-A", he said. "How do you spell it?" trying to sound like he was making conversation.

"Y-U-K-I-E"

"Thank you, that was very helpful," Garcia commented quietly, even though she knew Hotch and the girl could not hear her.

"Are you going to Princeton?"

"Yes," she said, grateful for his interest. "I am doing my Master's degree."

"Really? In what?"

"Chemistry. I started late..." she obviously felt self-conscious about her age.

Garcia's fingers were typing madly on her keyboard as she was searching Princeton's databases for their prime suspect's identity.

"I found three women called Yukie doing their Master of Science in Chemistry at Princeton, all in their thirties or late twenties, and they all look similar to one another... I need more," Garcia announced to the team.

Hotch was listening to Yukie, but noticed Prentiss approaching the bar and signalling him to get more information by spinning her hand in a couple of circles.

"What do you do?" Yukie asked him, unaware of what was going on behind her.

"I'm an insurance salesman, life insurance," he said, in an official tone, to discourage her from asking him more questions about it.

"You have a nice voice, I enjoyed your song very much," she quickly switched topics.

"Thank you. Do you sing?"

"No, I only listen. Both my parents were excellent singers, but I did not inherit their gift," she replied somewhat sadly.

"_Were_? Are your parents gone?"

"Yes, they passed away last year, in a car accident. That's why I'm here, continuing my studies. They did not encourage me to pursue graduate studies, they wanted me to marry..."

"I'm sorry to hear about your loss. It must have been difficult for you," Hotch continued.

She smiled and did not say anything. "Are you from around here?" she asked him.

"I'm just passing through," he answered dismissively. "And you? Where did you grow up?" he drank a sip from his glass.

"Aurora, Illinois, but I wasn't happy there. I always wanted to come here. I finally made it," she said.

"Are you all by yourself? Any family with you?"

She looked behind her, suddenly showing concern, but she only shook her head and said nothing.

Hotch perceived she did not want to talk about her family, but felt they should know more. He continued on another topic for a while, to let her become used to him. Meanwhile, Garcia had researched the databases and found out which Yukie had come from Illinois. She gave the information she found to Morgan and the others.

"Yukie Nakamura is 33 years old, born in Aurora, Illinois. Yes, her parents both died 14 months ago in an MVA, a collision with a semi-trailer with defective brakes... Ouch! The pictures are devastating... Anyway, I'm not finding any record of any kind on that girl, other than school, piano recitals, employment record... She did her bachelor in chemistry, then nothing, just worked as a lab technician at the big Medical Center for 10 years... Her medical records are also pretty much unhelpful... I can dig deeper..."

"Please do, Garcia," Morgan replied. "You're missing what she's saying right now?" He asked with concern.

"I'm recording everything, so I'll be able to catch up, don't worry."

That comment made him wince, but he said nothing. Instead, he continued his list of requests:

"Check if she has any family, she was not forthcoming on that, we should..."

"Actually," interrupted Garcia, "she has a brother, Takumi, 26. He looks like a little kid! He's a... Well, he's had more jobs in his short life than were created in this country over the past year! Mostly manual jobs, courier, taxi driver... all in Aurora. Then, he... got a job in Princeton Junction, last October. And lost it two weeks later. Then another, as a tree pruner, and that lasted less than a month..."

"Garcia, what does he drive?" Rossi asked, talking into his bracelet.

"A black pick-up truck, a Ford, 1995 model. Licence plate ZZZZZZ."

"Could be our unsub," Morgan said. "Do you have any police record for him?"

"Takumi Nakamura has a record in Illinois that runs from disturbing the peace, to vandalism, to issuing threats... but no assault or shooting... and nothing since he moved to New Jersey...

"Oh, I found something: there was a complaint against him, for cruelty towards dogs, when he was twelve. That's it."

They could hear Hotch and Yukie voices behind Garcia's, and it was a bit confusing with all the noise around them, but they picked up enough to know this man was a good fit.

"Does he own a weapon?" Rossi pushed on.

"No, he doesn't, but let me check something... Yes! His father owned a long-rifle, a Browning A Bolt 22LR... "

Once Seaver repeated the information to Reid, he nodded: "Probably a model made in the Japan plant..."

"Garcia, can you send us Nakamura's picture?" Morgan requested.

"Already done, check your cell!" she replied, curtly, but very pleased with herself.

Prentiss cringed when she saw the picture. She had seen the boy, but he looked too young to fit the profile.

"He was here, I saw him earlier! I guess his sister picks the targets and he takes them out... That would explain the age discrepancy in our profile."

"Okay, Reid and I are going to check the parking lot and nearby streets to see if we can find the pick-up truck," instructed Rossi. "He's probably hiding the long gun in the cab. Everyone else, stay on Hotch and try to find our guy in the crowd. Detective Sorrell, you should let your officers know what's going on, they should also be looking for Nakamura and guard all the exits."

Once Seaver repeated Rossi's words to Reid, he gave her a little nod, got up, went by Hotch and signalled him to stretch his conversation with the girl. He then joined Rossi at the exit door and put on his earpiece as they left the bar. Meanwhile, the two officers received a call from Sorrell, and they left their table to join Jenner and gave him their new assignments. They shared Nakamura's picture which Sorrell had forwarded to his officers. All felt the adrenaline rush of the hunt grab them. There was no need to hide their identities anymore, but they still knew to look inconspicuous, to not alarm the patrons. They positioned themselves at all the exits to the bar.


	8. Chapter 8

Shorter chapter this time, but again, I'll try to update the next one today, and that one is long.

Thanks for the reviews and words of encouragement!

QUOTE:

"Violence can only be concealed by a lie, and the lie can only be maintained by violence. Any man who has once proclaimed violence as his method is inevitably forced to take the lie as his principle."  
><strong>- Alexander Solzehnitsyn<strong>

CHAPTER 8

Morgan and Prentiss had scanned the crowd several times, had checked the men's restrooms, searched the offices, backstage, and had not found the suspect. They looked at each other and at Seaver who had kept an eye on Hotch and the girl, and shook their heads. The blond agent then made eye contact with Hotch and shook her head to let him know there was a problem.

Hotch thought he could excuse himself "to go to the restroom" to talk with Morgan, but he wanted to make sure the woman was not going anywhere in his absence.

"Can I buy you a drink? We could sit down, too, if we can find a table..." he offered, already eyeing Seaver's table; the young agent nodded her understanding to him.

"I'm sorry, Adam, but I won't be able to. It's actually getting late and I need to get back to the dorm."

"It's not that late; couldn't you stay a while longer?" Hotch suggested.

"I have an understanding with my roommate, and it involves coming back by a certain time, I'm sorry," she apologized again. "But you can walk me to the bus stop, if you like. It's not far from here, and I would feel safer..."

"Of course. Could you give me a minute, though? I'll be right back," he asked. Yukie looked at her watch and agreed: she had time. Pretending to head for the restrooms, he went down the hallway.

Morgan was already in the back office, waiting for Hotch.

"What have you found out?" Hotch hurriedly asked.

Morgan showed him Takumi Nakamura's picture, and updated him on what they had found out about Yukie's brother. The team could follow the conversation through Hotch's wire, including Rossi and Reid, still hunting the truck outside.

"If he left the bar already, he probably knows we're on to him," concluded Hotch. "I'll escort Yukie to the bus stop, you try to see if he's following us... I don't think she's in on it. But this could be our last chance of catching him at this location. Hopefully, he won't be able to resist another easy kill, but he has to think you're all still in the bar, he can't see you outside."

"We'll be careful," Morgan answered, and they heard the others on his cell acknowledging the new plan. "I wish you were wearing a Kevlar vest, though..." he hinted to Hotch.

Hotch had no choice, the vest would give him away to Yukie.

"This guy aims for the face anyway," Hotch quipped and tapped Morgan's shoulder, thanking him without words.

oooooooooo

Rossi and Reid had searched the parking lot and a couple of side-streets, but had not found the pick-up truck. They split to continue searching the nearby streets.

Prentiss and Seaver were following Hotch and Yukie, acting as if they were drunk, giggling and stumbling, knowing that it was their best cover if the killer was watching them. Prentiss had tied her hair back and borrowed Seaver's scarf and wrapped it around her shoulders to change the appearance of her clothes: she knew the unsub had seen her in the bar; she was hoping she'd go unnoticed in the dark, or rather, unrecognized.

Morgan knew where the bus stop was, thanks to Garcia, and he decided to take a different route. Instead of following them, he made a detour and aimed to overshoot the stop, going one block further east and hoping to catch the suspect while he was stalking the couple. He was now wearing his earpiece, and like the rest of the team, was also following the conversation with Yukie..

"I can't believe you go out to a bar at night all by yourself! That's not safe, you know?" Hotch was asking Yukie.

"Well, I actually have a brother, who accompanies me, sometimes..."

"You do? He's here, in Princeton?"

"Yes, he moved here last fall, he wasn't doing well by himself, back home..." Yukie said, uncomfortable about giving more details.

"You are troubled by him, Yukie, is he helping you, or...?" he asked, concerned.

"Oh, he's... I'd rather we..." she hesitated, a heavy look darkening her eyes. "My brother is not a happy person and he has difficulty making friends, keeping jobs..." she sighed, revealing more about Tak than she had ever before, but feeling a bit relieved in the process.

"It sounds like you've been worried about him for a long time," Hotch sympathized.

She smiled sadly, "Since we were children," she admitted. She turned to him, suddenly curious to know his opinion about her brother. "Do you think it is normal for a boy to be possessive and jealous of his older sister? To control who she talks to, whom she befriends, boys and girls alike? For the longest time, I did not dare talk to boys, I was afraid of what he would do, he would embarrass me..."

"It sounds like you did not grow up having a normal childhood, no," he answered gently. "And now? Now that you are both adults?"

"I thought I had found freedom this year, my life was finally beginning when I moved here. Then Tak arrived and I feel I have to protect my new life from being overtaken again, from falling under his control... It's hard to explain, but... I do love him, he has a sweet side to him, and my father was very strict and hard on him growing up, so... I do not want to send him away, but I wish..." Yukie looked away, then she heard the bus approach. She looked up to Hotch: "Will I see you again, Adam?"

"Yes, I'll see you again, Yukie, I promise," Hotch calmly replied. She smiled, delighted, but Hotch felt guilty, knowing that the next time he'd see her, it would be as S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner, and they would be talking about her brother, the serial killer...

oooo

Takumi was watching the couple at the bus stop through his binoculars. He had found a good parking spot, but it was farther away than the previous week and it was harder to see. He noticed the brunette from the bar; she was standing at the far corner near the bus stop with a blond. They both looked like they were having a good time, laughing and whispering to each other as they also watched the couple. He was perplexed: he thought she was a cop, what was she doing following his sister and laughing at her and the stranger? When did she become so tipsy? Who was the blond?

He wished he was smarter. His instincts told him she was a cop, but he did not understand how he knew his sister. Or did she know the stranger? She did seem to like him, in the bar. _Maybe he's a cop, too!_

At this moment, he saw his sister kiss the man on the cheek as he was shaking her hand. She had never kissed anyone before, and the jealous rage that arose from his insides consumed his whole being. He could not think rationally. He could have killed her on the spot. He could have shot him, and the brunette, and the blond... His sister got on the bus as the stranger stood there, without moving.

Takumi threw his binoculars on the seat next to him with such violence that they bounced and broke when they hit the side door. He grabbed his long gun, and checked that it was loaded. He hesitated for a moment: the dark stranger had sat on the bench, and then rose again; he was now crossing the street and heading towards him. He was still almost three blocks away, but Takumi could see his white shirt coming down the street. Then, he headed north, taking the same direction the bus had taken. Takumi had a nasty smirk: he was heading for a more quiet area; all he had to do is wait a few minutes.


	9. Chapter 9

Last chapter before the end. You should know this whole story so far has been a set up for the conclusion. 'Hope it was worth it...

Last chance to guess what will Garcia do... I'll probably put the answer up tomorrow!

QUOTE: (so lucky I found this quote!)

"As a single withered tree, if set aflame, causes a whole forest to burn, so does a rascal son destroy a whole family."  
><strong>- Chanakya<strong>

CHAPTER 9

When Yukie got on the bus, Hotch cautiously peered towards Prentiss and Seaver who had been standing a small distance away. They both shook their heads in the negative: still no sign of the suspect. He sat on the bench and put his head low, resting it in his hands, to hide the fact that he was speaking into his wire:

"I don't think Yukie knows anything about the killings; although she's been trying to protect herself from her brother, she probably has no idea what he's capable of. Sooner or later, he'll go after her, but I want her protected right away, in case he makes up his mind tonight. Send a couple of cars to pick her up at her bus stop and keep her secure until we have her brother in custody. Got that?"

He looked to Prentiss and Seaver and they nodded slightly. They turned to the wall and picked up their cells to confirm with Sorrell – who had probably heard the request – the need for back up. Garcia provided Yukie's address and nearest bus stop.

Meanwhile, Hotch got up from the bench, stretched his shoulders as if getting tired, while he spoke once more to his wire equipment:

"I'm going to walk for a while to buy us more time to find him; I'll head north on M Street, it's more quiet over there. Hopefully, if he follows, it will be easier for you to spot our man and there will be fewer passersby at risk... Prentiss and Seaver, stay far behind, you're too visible. He can't suspect you're following me."

And Hotch crossed the street and headed towards the corner of M Street.

Morgan was furious: "What is he doing? We can't follow him without exposing ourselves!"

"And we still have not found the pick-up truck, yet!" protested Reid. "We've covered all the area between the bar and the bus stop and nothing! We need to head east and north of here..."

"He knows we have his back. I just wish he had his earpiece on, so we could let him know when to duck, if necessary..." Rossi responded, grimly. "Reid, you take over for Seaver and Prentiss: follow him, act like you're a student just having a stroll..."

"I'm a block from M Street and one block south from the bus stop: I'll need to walk a bit faster than a stroll to even get Hotch in my sight!"

"You have your vest on, kid?" Morgan inquired.

"Yeah, I actually put it on, under my jacket... I'm sweating buckets!" he answered.

"Good man, do what you can," Rossi interjected. Reid did not answer, he just started to run.

"Girls, head back to the SUV and grab your vests. Then start "patrolling" by going around and coming south on M Street." Morgan ordered. "This guy has wheels and we're on foot, we can't chase him if he spots us..."

"Copy that," Prentiss replied and they headed back toward the bar where their SUVs were parked.

"I think I'll join them, I'm too far from all of you right now, anyway," Rossi said.

"Understood. I still see Hotch... and Reid is approaching..." Morgan described the scene at his corner, one block east of the bus stop. He was all in black and hiding in the shadows, no one could see him – he hoped. He was trying to spot any suspicious movement, but despite his scrutiny, he still had not located the suspect.

Five minutes after Reid passed by the stop and followed Hotch at a stroll pace, Morgan caught the glimpse of a dark vehicle turning north on the next street, east of where he was.

"I think I just saw a black pick-up truck head north, one block east of here," he announced with tension in his voice. "I can't see you anymore, Reid, I'm heading your way," and Morgan moved out of the shadow, jogging toward M Street.

Garcia was listening to their communications and watching on a map where they were heading. "Please be careful, Derek, keep your face out of trouble..." she whispered, too low for anyone to hear. Louder, she let him know: "There's a park on M Street three, four blocks from where you were, it takes a whole block..."

"I see it coming up, Hotch is walking by it already. It's pretty quiet down here," Reid added, still strolling with his hands in his pockets, watching and listening intently at everything around him.

He heard the sound of a truck rushing from behind him, but the truck rolled by and headed straight for Hotch about a block away, easy to spot in the dark because of his white shirt.

"Hotch!" shouted Reid.

Hotch turned around and saw the truck. He had no gun, no vest, no cover; he ran towards the nearest trees in the park, which were about sixty feet from the sidewalk.

The truck veered and stopped, pointing its headlights at him. The driver opened his door and grabbing his gun while standing on the doorstep of his truck, aimed for Hotch's head.

Reid was running toward the scene, gun in hand, and alerting the others to move in; Morgan was sprinting, still a distance behind him, while Rossi, Prentiss, and Seaver were approaching the park from the north-west corner, sirens blaring. Sorrell was approaching from the south, lights and sirens on. The sounds of the team approaching did not distract nor deter the madman; he fired just as Hotch was ducking and disappearing behind a tree; the bullet hit its bark and a chip of wood went flying.

Garcia jumped when she heard the gunshot; she faintly heard Morgan curse, then tires screeching as the SUV suddenly stopped. She heard several guns cocking and voices shouting "Freeze! FBI! Drop your gun!" and other orders thrown at the killer.

Nakamura was surrounded by Reid and Morgan approaching on one side, and by Rossi, Prentiss, and Seaver on the other. He could hear more cars approaching, as Sorrell and his men joined the group. The young man wanted to start shooting at everyone, but he could not hope to re-aim his long gun while five handguns were pointed at him. He stepped down from the truck, arms in the air, still holding his gun in his right hand.

Garcia heard the sirens, the cars, but could not make out what else was happening.

"What's going on? Everyone okay? Derek?..." she anxiously called. She sometimes got to follow the team, live, as they confronted an unsub, and often she would have visuals, but this time she could not see what was going on and it terrified her.

"We got him, Garcia; we're okay, he shot a tree!" Derek explained briefly.

Grateful, she let out a loud sigh of relief.

Reid, still out of breath, slowly headed toward Hotch's hiding spot, easily visible with the exposed white pulp marking the damaged tree. He took long strides, calling out: "Hotch! It's safe, now!" The headlights were glaring in his direction, effectively blinding him; he could not have seen what was going on by the truck.

"Hotch?" he called again, picking up the pace. The dark shadows of the trees contrasted sharply with the bright trunks, and as he approached, he noticed the deeper ground beyond the large roots was draped in blackness.

He spotted a splash of white on the ground and his blood froze as he discovered Hotch lying face down, not moving.

"Man down!" he screamed back to the team and started running the few remaining feet. He landed next to Hotch and right away tried to assess if he could find any wound or blood, but found nothing. With Morgan who had joined him, Reid turned him over, protecting the head and neck with his forearms and felt warmth on the skin of his wrist: blood, a lot of it.

He showed it to Morgan who was at once speaking into his wrist radio: "Garcia! Send an ambulance!"

"Right away!" she replied, but she had already started to type her request before the order sounded. "What kind of injury?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Head wound, gun shot," Reid answered her.

_No! _The gory crime scene pictures were replaying in her head; this was her worse-case scenario happening, a nightmare becoming reality. She sent the request and waited, listening with tears already drowning her eyes. Hotch's wire was a better feed and she could follow what the team was saying. They had all rushed to the park, leaving the shooter to Sorrell and his men. Sorrell did not stay behind for long, however, and joined the team, eager to offer his help and support.

Reid had grabbed a clean handkerchief and was putting pressure on the wound, on the side of Hotch's head.

"The bullet must have ricocheted," he surmised.

Several flashlights were now held above him; he lifted the blood-soaked cloth and leaned down to look at the wound for a moment. "It looks like the scalp was cut open by the bullet, but the skull seams intact."

"The bullet grazed him," translated Rossi, and Reid nodded.

"It knocked him out, possibly gave him a mild concussion. He'll need some suture points, but probably no surgery, I don't think," he was trying to sound clinical and detached, but was quite tense. Rossi, relieved, thanked him by grabbing his shoulder and he kneeled down next to Hotch.

Reid was still holding his head and putting pressure on the wound, but Rossi wanted to check if Hotch was regaining consciousness.

"Hotch?" Rossi gently tapped his face, one side, then the other.

"No! Stop!" pleaded Hotch, sounding like a sleepy little boy, which intrigued and amused Rossi. But the pleading turned to terrified begging when he tapped Hotch's cheek again: "Please! No!" Hotch screamed and anxiously put up his hands, trying to protect himself, but both limbs soon flopped down, inert, as he lost consciousness again. Rossi stopped, palms in the air, shocked by the reaction he had accidentally provoked.

Confusion was on every face. "What's going on?" they heard Garcia's voice in their earpieces, but no one had an answer for her.

"Is he dreaming?" Prentiss ventured.

"I don't think that's it," corrected Reid. "It's more likely... Traumatic head injuries can sometimes trigger the resurfacing of old memories... especially memories of trauma." He looked to Rossi whose face was livid with understanding. Morgan, too, was starting to feel sick. Prentiss could not believe it; she turned to Seaver and Sorrell who looked puzzled.

"I think I hear the ambulance," said Prentiss, as the faint wailing of sirens could be heard, approaching. They waited in silence, but as the sound got louder, Hotch began to stir and opened his eyes. He looked up to Rossi, needing a few seconds to focus his gaze.

"Nakamura?" he grunted.

"We got him, he's in custody," Rossi reassured him.

Hotch felt Reid's hands holding him and reached up to feel the painful spot on the side of his head.

"We need to put pressure on it, help stop the bleeding," Reid told him, gently.

"I thought he hit the tree!" Hotch wondered out loud.

"He did, but the bullet grazed your head," Rossi explained.

"Damn," said Hotch. He sat up and started to get up from the ground, taking over for Reid and putting pressure over the wound. Reid and Rossi were surprised by his rapid moves and Hotch was up on his feet before the ambulance's siren finally stopped.

"You're okay, Hotch? Any dizziness? Any double or blurry vision?" Reid anxiously asked him.

"Yes. No. And no." Hotch replied, clear and deliberate. They all smiled, glad to see their boss back to his usual efficient mode.

"That bullet did not slow you down long!" Rossi joked.

Hotch's eyebrows shot up in reply and he checked the drenched cloth he was holding, placing it back on his wound again, after folding it differently. He walked slowly around the tree, reached out with his free hand and touched the scarred surface of the bark where the bullet chipped the wood. They did not see the twinkle appear in his eyes:

"It looks like you guys owe me one," he declared with a grave tone. The group, overwhelmed, stared in silence.

"I'll make you a deal," he added with a lighter tone; and with a finger pointing upward, he stated his offer: "None of you ever say a single word, or ever mention anything about my singing... and we're even!" he finished with a wave of the hand. "And that goes for you, too, Garcia!" he ordered, talking into his wire. He then made his way toward the ambulance.

Half shocked, half amused, the team had no choice but to concede. They felt a mix of relief and disappointment: he had managed to quickly muzzle them before they had even begun to tease him about his singing!

"He bounces back fast!" exclaimed Sorrell.

"He's like a boxer," Seaver commented. "'Got to stay on your feet to win the fight..."

With surprise, they turned to her, and Rossi asked, incredulous: "You like boxing?"

"Eh..." she quickly started to walk away, but Rossi, Reid, and Sorrell followed her, curious to hear more about boxing from the young agent.

Morgan looked to Prentiss. The woman looked hesitant, but soon made up her mind: "I'll go and get the wire equipment..." and headed toward the ambulance. Morgan had a little smirk. His phone rang.

"How's Hotch?" Garcia asked, very curtly.

"He's okay, he's on his way to the ambulance. I guess they'll take him to the hospital for some stitches."

"Well, tell him I'm very angry. I don't like to be scared out of my mind! And I hate it when I hear everything and nothing at the same time..."

"Are YOU okay, Baby Girl?" Morgan was hearing her anger and fear.

"No. I was bawling my eyes out and I look like a racoon! I'm shaking; I'm feeling sick to my stomach... And what am I going to do with my recording? I can't figure out what was going through my head! Where do I ever get those crazy ideas?"

"I don't know, my friend, but you better calm down and figure it out! We'll be back tomorrow..."

"Promise me you'll never scare me like that, ever!" she then entreated Morgan.

"I... promise I'll do my best to never cause any tears to flow from those beautiful eyes..." he replied.

"Oooh... Tears of joy are okay... Thank you, sweet prince," she finished and hung up.


	10. Chapter 10

_Some Family Matters_ concludes today with this last chapter. This scene was my initial idea, how I started the story. I wanted an explanation for Hotch's uncharacteristic behaviour (breaking his word). What you've read so far came after this idea.

I'm not very good at coming up with titles, but I think you can see how the "family" applies to so many aspects and people in this story...

I could not find a good quote for this conclusion, but I did find a funny one, about family, of course.

Please let me know if you liked, or not, anything about this story, and where I made mistakes (I don't have a beta reader, I'm sure it shows, and my French gets in the way, too!). I appreciate any and all comments.

QUOTE:

"Probably the worst time in a person's life is when they have to kill a family member because they are the devil. But otherwise it's been a pretty good day."  
><strong>- Emo Philips<strong>

[CONCLUSION]

Hotch heard a knock at the door. He quickly peered through the peephole and saw Garcia with an uncomfortable smile on her face.

"Jack! Aunt Penelope is here!" He unlocked the door, but before he could welcome her in, he had to step back with surprise as the rest of the team appeared one by one from the hallway, saluted or greeted him, and entered his apartment. Without a word, he looked again at Penelope, who was holding a nicely wrapped package and had still not made a move.

"Hi...," she hesitated. "I hope you don't mind, but I asked if anyone would like to come with me, and..."

"...We all said no," quipped Emily. "We did bring wine, and I think Reid got some finger food..." she added casually, to tease the young man carrying a large grocery bag full of chips, caramel popcorn, and other snack food.

"... and I have something for Jack, as promised over the phone," ended Garcia, suddenly becoming mobile and walking in.

Hotch, immediately suspicious, took only a second and guessed that Garcia did not want to face him alone; he was starting to worry about the 'gift for Jack' which was supposed to be simply 'a spur of the moment impulse', as Garcia had claimed earlier on.

Jack ran in, suddenly excited to see all his 'aunts' and 'uncles' show up unannounced. The thrill on his face was too precious, and Hotch could only smile with the others and play the gracious host.

Within minutes, everyone had a full glass of wine, bowls were filled with the content of three large bags of 'munchies', and Jack was, at last, opening the mysterious box which revealed some very innocuous content, to Hotch's relief.

"Wow!" Jack was quite intrigued by the packaged CD player and speakers, and the collection of CDs included in the box.

"It's a mini sound system so you can listen to music in your own room..." began Penelope.

"...And we contributed some CDs to start your collection," added Spencer.

"That's a great idea," commented Hotch. "I was planning to give him something like that eventually... Oh, look buddy, 'Peter and the Wolf'! That's a great story, told with musical instruments..."

"That was Emily's pick," commented David.

"Why don't I help you set it up in your room, Jack? If that's okay with your dad," Penelope looked up to Hotch who nodded his approval.

"I'll help you get this out of the package, Pen," offered Derek, as he picked up the box and headed for the boy's bedroom, preceded by Jack and Penelope.

The others settled in their seats and described enthusiastically to Hotch how they each had selected CDs for Jack. The idea of the sound system apparently was Garcia's, but everyone had decided to join in.

"Thank you, but you shouldn't have. I don't know why Penelope did not wait for his birthday," wondered Hutch.

"It's too far away, and she apparently could not wait," Emily revealed with laughter.

"How's the head?" asked Spencer, pointing to his own head.

"Fine, a few suture points took care of it," answered Hotch, while scratching at the wound and settling his hair over it.

"Don't worry about it, we can't see anything," Dave reassured him.

"Can you mix alcohol and medication?" inquired Ashley, pointing to Hotch's glass of wine and trying to give him a subtle hint that if he was on medication, he would better abstain from drinking.

"I'm not on medication, not even an aspirin..." he replied, saluting her with his glass and with a slight warning look: she was treading on personal territory. The young woman brushed it off with a happy nod; she was not trying to pry. David, on the other hand, had something nagging at him and he could no longer resist being nosy.

Relaxing back in his chair and using a pensive, soothing tone, he made eye contact with Hotch: "Jack is growing up so fast. You know, watching him change from a toddler to a young boy is bringing back some old memories from my own past? Maybe it's our Sunday morning soccer that's doing it... I thought my childhood was gone forever, but now I'm reminded of things that we did or said when my friends and I were his age; the good, the bad times... "

They all tried to imagine for a moment what Dave might have been like as a child – with more or less success – but the thought seemed to strike a nerve for Hotch who broke the silence:

"I know what you mean. Even my dreams, now, are..." but noticing the flicker of approval in Dave's eyes, he figured out too late that he had just taken the bait offered to him. Tipping his head, quite puzzled, he asked: "How did you know about the dreams?"

"I didn't, you just told us."

Dave was satisfied that he had guessed right. The short episode in the park had been a sample of what was currently troubling Hotch: dreams and memories of an abused childhood, triggered by watching his son approach the age he probably was when it had started for him.

Baffled, Hotch was staring at Dave, Spencer, Emily, Ashley, they all seemed to know about his dreams, which was impossible!

Derek strolled in from Jack's bedroom with a smile on his face and grabbed his glass, but feeling a chill in the room as he sat down, he threw inquisitive looks around.

Aaron sat up, suddenly concerned: "Have you been talking to Jack?"

"No, no, we have not!" they all protested with different degrees of embarrassment or reassurance, or in Derek's case, with a puzzled look. The team dearly hoped Dave had planned his next step.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night..." _

The music coming from Jack's bedroom unexpectedly interrupted the group as they recognized Hotch's voice. With stunned or horrified looks on their faces, Emily gasped, Spencer gulped, and Ashley furtively looked away, as Dave wiped his brow, thinking: _Oh, no, from bad to worse!_

They all turned to Derek, who was the only one not looking surprised; he was busy intensely staring back at Hotch who was now glaring at him.

"You helped her make a recording of my singing?" Hotch was finally understanding what Penelope Garcia had been up to. At first, he thought Dave and the others were in on it – Garcia had to have received help to record this – but their reactions told of their ignorance, except for Derek's.

"_...only waiting for this moment to arise..." _Hotch suddenly got up, but Morgan also rose to intercept him. It had not been Morgan's favorite idea, but he wanted to stand for Penelope.

"She used government equipment for personal use," started Hotch, "during an official investigation, made a recording, in secret, without permission, and you... Why?"

He felt betrayed, looked confused, but mainly was curious, aiming to understand Morgan and Garcia's motivations. This was so out of character for them!

"She was still sore about what happened last fall... when you broke your promise to her..." Derek tried to explain.

"What promise? This is about revenge?" Hutch was flustered, he wasn't sure he remembered the events of the past year. So many bad things had happened over the last several months...

"No, it's not out of revenge. She said she wanted insurance, so you would not break your word to her again."

"Insurance? You mean leverage! Is this about that time we needed her acting talents to catch a serial killer? …And she was _happy_ we went to see her on stage!" added Hotch, suddenly remembering the details of the controversial issue.

"That's not the point, Hotch," Derek replied. "She asked you to keep something private a secret..."

Dave got up: "May I say something?" he asked loudly to interrupt them.

Both men, surprised, turned to face him.

"We are all trying to keep our personal lives private and protect them from this job we do. It's a real struggle despite everyone's commitment to keep to ourselves and not to intrude into anyone else's business. The fine line between professional and private lives is hard to maintain for all of us, but you've always kept it very thin, Hotch." Dave walked closer to the two men. "The job kept invading your private life... and then George Foyet made it much too personal... and that fine line... just got erased completely!

"We all make mistakes with this, don't get me wrong, but sometimes, when the invisible line gets crossed... You're not always aware it's happened," Rossi concluded.

Hotch looked away for a moment and surmised that before he might consider disciplining the tech, he had to deal with his own past indiscretion. _It's one thing to force yourself to give up your privacy for the job; it's another to force Garcia to do the same with her acting._ He looked disappointed, but they guessed it was with himself, not with Derek or Penelope.

"I should have... I guess I'm long overdue for an apology," admitted Hotch.

"Apology accepted, but only if you'll accept mine," said Penelope, who had approached behind them quietly, at first listening with a worried expression on her face; she now looked more hopeful that her circumstances were improving, although her remorse was sincere.

"It was a mistake, I wanted to destroy it, the recording, but then I thought, 'Hey, it's good, why destroy it? Why not give it to someone who would really enjoy it?'... I thought it would be nice for a son to hear his father's voice while he's away." Penelope's pace kept accelerating: "So I made a copy, this is the only copy, there's no trace of anything, anywhere, I swear..."

"Penelope," Hotch stopped her, raising his hands as if to surrender, or to beg for a reprieve. He needed a moment to focus, regroup. A year ago... no, he had to go back further than that, much further. "I missed..." He interrupted himself again; he needed to start at the beginning.

"Hayley loved theatre," he started, "that's how we met; it's what we did together, we went to see plays, and I grew to love it almost as much as she did; it was something we shared..."

Penelope jaw dropped. She had not expected any clarification and even less an explanation that was so personal.

"...Until I joined the FBI and the BAU; then she had to go by herself, more and more often. And after Jack, we both were too busy... After the divorce, I did not want to risk running into her, so again, I stayed away..." Hotch took a longer pause. They guessed that he had not gone back after losing Hayley: it was too painful.

"But when I saw your posters, I realized how long it had been since I had seen a play," looking directly at her, apologetically, he added "and I made a promise I never should have made because I knew I could not keep it. I was already planning to go see your play, and later I figured I would bring the team with me...

"... In fact, I should thank you, Penelope," he then added lightly, "because I've since been taking Jack to children's plays and interactive plays... They're very well done and quite a lot of fun... and Jack loves it, of course!"

Penelope was pleased to find in Hotch a fellow theatre lover, but was too moved to say anything; she just answered with a smile.

At this point, they heard the thumping of little feet running down the hallway, and Jack burst in and jumped in his dad's arms, holding in his hands his new CD.

"I love it, daddy! I want to listen to it every night!" announced Jack, with a big smile on his face.

"Did you say thank you to Aunt Penelope, Jack?" reminded Hotch.

"Yes, he did," volunteered Penelope, but Jack turned to her, beaming, and thanked her again:

"Thank you, Aunt Penelope," and turning back to his dad, "Now you won't have to sing me lullabies..."

"Don't you like live singing, Jack?" teased Dave.

"No, the CD is better. There's music and people applauding" he declared.

Dave could only shake his head.

Hotch was amused, but then looked directly at his son: "I think it's time to prepare for bed, Jack. Say good night to everyone."

The group came closer to the boy and attempted to kiss or hug him as he was wishing each one a good night. Hotch, still carrying the boy, asked everyone to help themselves if they needed anything while he put Jack to bed.

"That was very smart of you to bring us with you, Pen," said Derek as he settled back in his seat, wine glass in hand.

"And to give a CD to Jack," added Spencer, grabbing a bowl of chips.

"Not just 'a' CD... '_THE_' CD," commented Emily, with wide eyes. "That was a risky move..."

"Risky? What about Dave's move?" intervened Ashley.

"Yeah, what was that all about?" asked Derek, while Penelope, also curious, joined him and they both tried to catch up with the conversation, the wine, and the food.

"Something I'll finish with Hotch in private... if he ever brings up the topic again!" Dave answered, and the others, looking at each other, all agreed this was very unlikely.

"Baby, is it true?" asked Derek, "You only made one copy and destroyed the file?"

Penelope sighed. "Yes, it's true. I had a weak moment, I guess..."

"You're not the only one," said Spencer, mouth full of treats. Emotional roller coasters always stimulated a strong craving for junk food in the young man.

"You sound and look more like the Penelope I know, tonight..." hinted Derek to Penelope.

"You bet, lamb chop! I was _exhausted_! I slept all night, woke up and got breakfast this morning, then went back to sleep... It's all I did today!" she declared with a big satisfied smile.

"It sounds like what we all did, today," Prentiss laughed.

There was a quiet pause, yet, everyone felt comfortable.

"This is nice," remarked Ashley quietly while gazing at the red wine in her glass. It was not clear if she was talking about the wine, or...

"I agree," commented Emily, looking at their little group enjoying the end of the day. "We should invade Hotch's privacy more often," she suggested with an impish look.

They all grinned: _We're game if you are..._


End file.
